


Like a Storm

by miss_grey



Series: Willowsbend [4]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Cop!Dean, M/M, Officer!Dean, willowsbend 'verse, witch!cas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:09:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“You think by now I don’t know who you are, Castiel Novak?”  Cas tried to turn his eyes to the side, but Dean caught him, with a gentle palm against his cheek.  “You think I haven’t looked at you and seen the power that lives in you?  I have, Cas.  I’ve seen it first-hand.  I might not know everything you’re capable of, but I could guess.  Doesn’t matter, though.”  Dean chuckled, leant forward, and pressed a chaste kiss to Cas’s lips with a smacking sound.  “What you can do isn’t the same as who you are."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like a Storm

**Author's Note:**

> Alright my lovelies, as a reward for me surviving my second week at the new job, here is the new installment of the Willowsbend 'Verse for you all. Enjoy! :)

 

 

           When he opened the front door and took a step into the house, the scent of ozone struck his nose.  He stopped, just inside, hand still posed on the knob, and took a deep breath.  The air was thick and heavy, expectant of the storm that Dean could feel brewing from within.  He hesitated, just for a moment, before he took another step, shut the door behind him, and kicked his boots off in their usual pile.  The moment his socked feet touched the floor, he could feel the electric buzz of on-coming lightning in the wooden floorboards underneath his feet.  The air shifted, grew suddenly cooler, and the scent of warm earth wrapped around Dean, drawing him further inside.

            He wasn’t sure exactly what the storm meant, but he was pretty sure he knew the cause of it.  He’d become familiar with things like that over the last few months.  What he did know was that this wasn’t a natural storm; it was of a witch’s making, and it was very powerful.

            Outside, the sun shone bright in a clear blue summer sky.

                                                                    

 

 

            Dean might have been worried, but there was something in the scent, the feel of the storm that calmed rather than alarmed him, so he slowly followed his nose through the house, stripping bits of his uniform as he went.  It had been a long day at the office; he and Benny had had a close call with a ghoul they’d assisted with one county over.  They’d made it out of that okay, but Dean was thankful to be home now, thankful to still be in one piece.  The local sheriff hadn’t been so lucky.

            He dropped his socks in the hallway, one after the other, black wisps of material on an otherwise tidy floor.

            In the kitchen he stopped to breathe deeply; the scent of rain was heavy here.  He took his time unbuttoning his uniform.  He slowly peeled the tan material from his shoulders—it was stiff with sweat and grime after the long day—and he laid it across the back of one of the chairs—he’d pick it up later.

            He stripped his white undershirt while he was taking the stairs—it clung to his belly and messed up his hair.  He dropped it on the steps, and kept moving.

            The scent was strongest right outside the closed door of his bedroom.  It was more than just rain, more than just ozone; it was thunder and lightning powerful enough to shake the house on its foundation, it was the lashing rain of a tempest and the howling of a hurricane.  But it was also the scent of the sun warming dark, wet earth, and of new flowers, and all the things that drew life from such a tumult.  It was the promise of renewal, of rebirth.  It was pure power, destructive on its own, but nurturing, and loving, in the hands of a good man.  The raw power of creation and destruction, of _being,_ channeled through a witch, through Cas, through the man he loved.

            Dean popped the button on his pants and pushed the door open.

 

 

 

            The static in the air fell away the moment Dean stepped inside of his bedroom and found Cas kneeling in a circle of candles on the floor at the foot of the bed.  He wore jeans and one of Dean’s old t-shirts, his hair ruffled like it’d been buffeted by heavy winds for the last half hour.  Cas shuddered for a moment, heaved a deep breath, then glanced over his shoulder.  “Hello, Dean,” he murmured, voice even deeper than usual.  Wrecked from whatever he’d most likely been chanting.  His blue eyes swirled with the remnants of storm clouds.  Maybe a year ago Dean would have shivered at seeing such raw power there, but now he simply closed the door behind him, shuffled his bare feet to the edge of the circle, and said, quietly, “Hey Cas, whatcha doin’?”

            Cas rolled his shoulders and stood, his legs unfolding gracefully beneath him, until he was on Dean’s level.  Dean could see that one of his palms was stained with a smear of blood.  He flicked his eyes to the window and saw a dot of it at each corner, then he glanced back toward the closed bedroom door and noticed the same.  Cas cleared his throat and Dean gave him his attention again.  “I was renewing all of the wards on your home, Dean.  Garth told me about the ghoul this afternoon and I didn’t want to take any chances.”  His flicked his wrist and all of the candles around him blew out.  Dean felt the rest of the close, waiting power subside.  “I apologize if my casting alarmed you.  I’d intended to be done and have this all cleaned up before you got home.”

            As soon as the circle was broken, Dean strode forward and wrapped his arms around the other man.  Cas swayed in his hold, obviously exhausted from the laborious working.  Dean held him close and buried his nose in Cas’s neck, inhaling deeply of the lingering scent, now tempered with warm skin, faint sweat, and the sweetness of coffee and chocolate.  “Didn’t worry me,” Dean murmured in the space under Cas’s ear.  “’M used to the feel of you now.  Woulda known if it was someone else.  Wouldn’t smell like you.”  He nuzzled his nose along the length of Cas’s neck, pressing tiny, open-mouthed kisses into Cas’s skin as he went. 

            Cas shivered at the attention.  “Smell?”

            “Mmmhmmm,” Dean murmured, pressing himself as close as possible to the long line of heat that was Cas’s body.  “You smell like a wicked summer storm.  Whole house smells like it too.”

            He could feel Cas frown, and stiffen slightly.  “You mean like the kind that bring tornadoes?”

            “Sometimes,” Dean agreed, backing Cas the remaining couple feet until the backs of his knees hit the mattress of their bed.  “They’re needed though,” Dean added, gently shoving Cas back—he went willingly—and crawling over him, knees perched on each side of Cas’s hips.  Dean hovered close, lips brushing the underside of Cas’s jaw—he could still feel the frown—and murmured “They keep everything else alive.”  Cas huffed and Dean drew back far enough to see the diminishing frown line between Cas’s brows.  “You think by now I don’t know who you are, Castiel Novak?”  Cas tried to turn his eyes to the side, but Dean caught him, with a gentle palm against his cheek.  “You think I haven’t looked at you and seen the power that lives in you?  I have, Cas.  I’ve seen it first-hand.  I might not know everything you’re capable of, but I could guess.  Doesn’t matter, though.”  Dean chuckled, leant forward, and pressed a chaste kiss to Cas’s lips with a smacking sound.  “What you can do isn’t the same as who you are.  I’ve seen the charms half this town are wearing now, Cas.  I know for a fact you carved each and every one of those runes with your own two hands.  And I’ll bet a year’s wages you renew them all regularly.”  Cas blushed, tried to worm away again, but Dean wasn’t having it.  “You think I don’t know you hold the lives of half this town in your hands?  You help me to keep them all safe, Cas.  You help me to keep the people I care about alive.”

            “Dean,” Cas protested, or tried to.

            Dean silenced him with an insistent kiss, one that sucked the breath from both of them.  He was panting when he finally pulled back, and he had to rest his forehead against Cas’s just to keep his balance.  “You’re always taking care of me.  More than anyone else ever did.”  He pressed his lips lovingly, reverently against Cas’s forehead.  “It ain’t the only reason, but I love you for that.”

            Cas huffed a breath and pulled Dean’s lips back to his own, and then rolled them, so that he was straddling Dean now.  “You’re wearing too many clothes,” he growled, shoving his hand between them to work Dean’s zipper down.  Dean might have protested that it was an unfair assessment—he had on far less than Cas, after all, but then Cas’s hand was inside of his boxers, wrapping around the already-hard length of him, and all of Dean’s words died on his tongue.

 

 

            They didn’t talk after that.  Their words were replaced by heavy breathing, gasps, and soft huffs.  Cas worked Dean to the brink, before drawing his hand back and quickly shucking his clothes.  Normally Dean might have tried to help, but he was entranced by the paths Cas’s fingers took across his own skin as he pulled his shirt and pants off, and discarded his boxers over the side of the bed.  Dean was content to lean back against the pillows, achingly hard, and watch Cas work.  God, everything Cas did was literally magic.

            They’d been together like this for months now, had shared a bed most nights in that time, had had sex more times than Dean could count, and still, with Cas, every time felt like it was brand new.  When Cas settled over Dean and sank down onto him, sheathing him in the tight heat of Cas’s body, Dean’s eyes fluttered shut and he gasped, fingers clutching at Cas’s hips.  He’d never get used to this. 

            Cas moved with a focus that was purely his own, but he never rushed, either.  There was no reason to.  They had all the time in the world.  Cas bent forward over Dean, head bowed for a moment, before he pressed a wet, desperate kiss against Dean’s lips.  Around them, the house shuddered, just enough to notice.  Dean ignored it.  Dean also ignored the bedside table rise up off the ground, and he ignored the way the bed creaked, straining against the nails they’d put in to hold it in place.  He focused entirely on Cas, and the way he moved, the way his mouth tasted and felt pressed to Dean’s.  The way Dean could feel all of that latent power zing through his own veins when Cas pressed his tongue into Dean’s mouth. 

            Cas’s hips stuttered, and he cried out, leaning forward and spilling all over Dean’s belly.  The desperate, mewling sound that ripped out of Cas’s throat was enough to have Dean coming hard as Cas’s body clenched around him, and his mouth fell open in a silent, wordless scream of pleasure.  His whole world whited out for a moment—he was held aloft, infinite, in the place between existing and not, for just a second, before he came back to reality where Cas panted—hot, heavy, and covered in sweat—sprawled across Dean’s chest.

            Cas rolled off of Dean, groaning and grimacing at the mess he’d made between them, but Dean didn’t let him go far.  He rolled to the side and grabbed Cas around the middle, holding him close so that he wouldn’t have to be without the warmth of Cas’s body.  “I love coming home to you like this,” Dean murmured against Cas’s temple.

            Dean could feel the smile, even though he couldn’t see it, when Cas replied drowsily, “ Yeah…I love it, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are love! Please let me know what you thought of the story, and feel free to follow me on my tumblr here: http://realhunterswearplaid.tumblr.com/


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